


Rendezvous in Morocco

by bactaqueen



Category: Captain America
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, happy and mostly angst-free, lazy orgasms, this is barely porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2013-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-18 08:52:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/877950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bactaqueen/pseuds/bactaqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winter Soldier and Captain America are both sent to a SHIELD safehouse in Morocco to await extraction after their respective missions. Steve doesn’t see the point of even finding his own room. Bucky doesn’t disagree.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rendezvous in Morocco

Steam swirls around him as Bucky comes out of the bathroom, rubbing his hair with one towel and another wrapped low around his hips. He needs a haircut, he thinks, making the mental note to see the ship's barber as soon as he can. He drapes the damp towel around his neck, scanning the room, running through everything he wants to remember for the debriefing with Hill later. 

It's like Steve did it on purpose. 

Bucky's mission report is suddenly the last thing on his mind. 

Steve is stretched out on what would be his side of the bed back home, his hands tucked under his head and his eyes closed. His hair is still wet in streaks and he didn't bother shaving. There's a hint of red to his skin, a slight sunburn; nothing too bad, but enough to tell Bucky that Steve was too busy to worry about sunblock. 

Bucky can't imagine what work would have kept Steve shirtless (and why he wasn't invited on _that_ mission), so it had to be fun. 

Good. Steve deserved to have some fun. 

Bucky just isn't sure what _he_ had done to deserve Steve wearing those white pants. Whatever it was, he'd have to do again. Repeatedly and often. 

There's food, too, a tray of traditional Moroccan tea and snacks, but that's a lot less important than Steve. 

"Didn't they give you your own room?" 

Steve smiles but doesn't open his eyes. "Probably." 

"Did you even check?" 

"What's the point?" He cracks an eye as Bucky comes closer. "How'd it go?" 

"No one's dead." Bucky tosses the towel from his neck to the floor and leans across Steve. He braces a hand in the bed, careful not to jostle the tea tray, and brushes his mouth to Steve's. He tastes salt water and coconut and sunshine. It makes him sigh. 

This is the best part of coming off-mission these days. 

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing this time?" Steve reaches up, curves a hand around the back of Bucky's neck, and pulls him down for another kiss. It's longer, deeper, the air between them heating up. 

Bucky moans like a greedy teenager into the kiss. Any separation is too long these days. Even for work. Maybe especially for work. Work is how they keep ending up dead. 

Steve breaks away, nipping at Bucky's bottom lip as he relaxes back into the pillow. 

"Good this time," Bucky manages. He has to make himself pull away. He's so used to taking what he can get, to squeezing the best out of every moment with Steve, that he has to remind himself they've got time. The sun hasn't even gone down yet and extraction isn't until mid-afternoon tomorrow. They have time, they have as much privacy as they ever have working for SHIELD, and they have nothing better to do. 

Bucky likes the concept of having time. It happens more and more these days. Steve was always the best thing he ever had to do. 

He climbs over Steve's legs, brushing his human hand to the front of Steve's thin white pants where he can see the soft bulge of his cock against the fabric. He settles on his heels between Steve's thighs and the tray, eyeing the laden tray. 

"What have we got?" 

"Tea." Steve rolls to his side, propping his head in his hand. "They even brought you pancakes." 

" _Meloui_ ," Bucky corrects automatically. Not that he ate much the last time he was in Morocco--assassinations for the Kremlin usually meant he was eating their version of C-rations--but he finds he retains snippets of useless information and he's not even sure where it came from. 

Steve gives him a strange look. "I know that." 

Sometimes Bucky forgets he's not the only one who's been around the world a few times for things he wishes he'd never done. A weight sinks from his chest to his stomach and he leans forward to kiss Steve again. In a different time, they would never have had this; in a different time, they'd be different people, maybe without the courage to take this. Steve slides his fingers through Bucky's hair and opens his mouth, taking the kiss Bucky needs to give. Maybe Bucky wouldn't have had the courage for it, but Steve would have. Steve was always willing to do the right thing even if it could have killed him, and this--this is _right_. 

"Are you all right?" Steve murmurs, fingers massaging the nape of his neck. 

"I'm great." Bucky brushes their mouths together once more before he leans away. He picks up two glasses of the mint tea and hands one to Steve. With a grin, he clinks the delicate rims together. 

He knows the words. _The first glass is as gentle as life._ He skips them. There's nothing gentle about life, certainly not their lives, and there's no local to offend if he doesn't say it or the rest. 

The tea is sweet and fresh-tasting but doesn't satisfy. Bucky feels the restlessness like electricity under his skin and he savors it. He sets his glass down as Steve sips his and he reaches for the _meloui_. He can wait. He can revel in this feeling, in the anticipation. He tears the pancake and dips it into the honey and he starts to bring it to his mouth. 

Steve intercepts it, mouth open, teeth scraping over the pad of Bucky's thumb as he steals the bite. 

"Hey!" 

"It's good, you should have some." Steve licks honey from the corner of his mouth. 

Bucky cocks an eyebrow at him. Steve is being his version of sneaky and seductive and it makes him want to grin, to play along. So he does. He tears another piece from the _meloui_ , dips it into the honey, and isn't even a little bit surprised when Steve steals that bite, too. 

"Have they fed you at all since you got here?" 

"They tried. I was busy," Steve says around swallowing. "Did you see the waves?" 

"The waves?" Bucky glances toward the big balcony, then looks back at Steve. "Did you go _surfing_?" He tries to picture Steve on a surfboard like in the Elvis movie and has to bite his lip. 

Hawaii. They need to go to Hawaii. 

"Where do you think I got the sunburn?" Steve plucks what's left of the pancake from Bucky's fingers, swirls it in the honey, and pops it into his mouth. 

"I wish I could have seen that," Bucky says wistfully, watching Steve lick his fingers. "Is there video?" 

"You can hack SHIELD's sat recordings when we get back to Brooklyn. I've got my coordinates memorized." He picks up another _meloui_ and offers it to Bucky. "Eat something." 

Bucky pushes it away. "Not that." 

Steve grins. 

The tray clatters to the ground when Bucky lunges for Steve, and he'd care about it, normally, maybe even feel bad for ruining the carpet and shattering the glasses, but Steve is big and hot under him, and he tastes like honey and sea and home. Bucky's towel is gone. Steve's got one hand fisted in his damp hair and the other wrapped around his hardening cock. Bucky doesn't think he's ever been so happy, doesn't think he ever thought happy was something he could be. Then he stops thinking because thinking when Steve's stroking him like this, kissing him like this, is overrated, and Bucky is falling. It's a familiar sensation. He falls into feeling. Into tasting. 

Steve gets his own cock free of his pants. He's hard, flesh searing, and when it's laid alongside Bucky's, shaft to shaft, Bucky moans into Steve's mouth. He cups the back of Steve's head with one hand, fists the other in the coverlets beneath the pillows just to have something to hold on to when Steve wraps his big hand around both of them and strokes. Steve's breath comes in short, hot pants into his mouth, his tongue is rough against his, and Bucky can't stop his rocking hips, can't stop the moans and groans that spill out. Bucky drags wet lips along Steve's cheek to breathe into his ear, declarations and terms of endearment and a demand that he come, right now, come all over them both. Bucky is close and can't hold back but when he spills, hot and sticky over Steve's hand, over Steve's dick, Steve follows him, body tense and moan deep. 

Bucky rests his forehead on the pillow beside Steve's head and shuts his eyes tight and tries to catch his breath. Steve turns his face to kiss Bucky's cheek, his neck, to lick sweat from the curve of his shoulder and nuzzle his frantic pulse. He slides a hand from Bucky's hair down the length of his back and shifts beneath him, the slide of their slick bodies sending a shudder through Bucky that makes him moan. 

He lifts his head to kiss Steve. Long and slow and deep and hot and wet and absolutely everything good about being with him. 

Steve grins against his mouth. 

Bucky doesn't have to ask why. He just grins back.


End file.
